Terms of Death
by Jack Motley
Summary: A Forsaken deals with his unlife.


Warning: This is fanfiction.

They said death is the final release. Release from the pain, turmoil and struggles of a life bleeding, breathing and wound around the necessities and standards set forth by the world and others. Oh, sure, if you lived a good life, you get a reward, but who really knows? Does anyone really know how the Light or the afterlife works? Even though you can be nowadays _dead_ and reborn? I mean, what was between getting skewered by a skeletal Scourge soldier's pike and shoveling this green, putrid ectoplasm manure? Does anyone remember? Was there anything? Was I pulled back from my final reward, or was I just dead? Was this entire life led to a rewarding ends' thing just a bunch of foul lies fed to us as children and maintained as we grew up into older, hopeless, repetitive 'life for the sake of living' teenagers, adults and old men, just so we'd not act against the law and our parent's social standards?

It's all I can do nowadays to maintain what's left of my sanity, to not think too hard on the fact that my entire thirty-two years of living life was not one huge lie compounded upon lie compounded upon lie, just so I would be a good little boy and productive citizen for a nation of political shitheads who don't even recognize my existence, and want to kill me for being not living.

It wasn't my choice to live this life, now; as it has become quite clear to me now that my life before wasn't much to my choice, either. If it wasn't for the Scourge mindlessly running around for no good, apparent reason than just spreading misery, fear, death and this undeath; killing me and perhaps relieving me of my living suffering and responsibilities as a aimless farmhand on a ranch struggling just to feed its owner, then maybe I would have never came to this realization. Maybe next time I see that Arthas Menethil, I should thank him for enlightening me.

Hah, 'enlightening', what a stupid word to use. There's nothing Light or hopeful about this. I'm the fucking walking dead! The abomination of the Light, or as the Church, the Light, the Priests and those damned arrogant Paladins so proclaim. Fuck 'em, what do they know? Nothing the Light and the same texts and dictations passed down through their generations that told them and told me how I should have lived my life, for some promise I found empty through my transition through life and death.

Oh wait, but here I am; somehow in an even worse position than before, but I'm sure it has nothing to do with the Scourge or my previous life as a human; than my own failures as an individual. Hell, I went from shoveling cow manure and toting around chicken feed as a warm, living human being, to shoveling this green goo the Apothecaries never say what's for, for what reason? Even in death, I'm still shoveling someone else's shit, and what's the worst part about this all, of course? I just can't up and commit suicide to end it all! Suicide would mean I _die_. I'm already _dead_. What do you do once already _dead_, but I don't know—disintegrate?

I guess I would be so lucky, but even then, what's after that? Do you just fly around as little particles of skin and meat, settling on the cold, dirty floor and blown about by the breeze? Is this even the answer? Is there any answer? Does anyone know? Are we all doomed just to die and stay dead as nothing but a permanent state of blank, nothingness, or is there an actual purpose why we've been given the ability to ponder these things, that doesn't revolve around some sadistic creature wanting to watch us be miserable while we contemplate our own mortalities?

Maybe that's it. Maybe we're all just here to suffer. Maybe that's just the only purpose in life: suffering. You know, this could as well be fabled Purgatory, and we're too Light blessed arrogant and egotistical to devalue our current lives by suggesting to ourselves that we're all here because we were _bad_ in our previous lives? That this is just punishment for our sins, and the difference between the living, the unliving, and the just plain dead, is nothing more than body temperature and how the blood does and does not flow.

You know what? That's not a bad idea; that this is just my personal Purgatory. You know, I think I'll go with that. That means this crapsack of a life is just temporary, and there is nothing in the end. That absolution and eternal torment as reward or punishment is just a meaningless notion the sinners carry over from their fall from grace; tormenting themselves and others in their own sadistic and masochistic torment, doomed to never let go of what brought them all to this empty plane.

I can't help it, I'm laughing. Did it take dying and stirring this green shit all day reach finally a comfortable acceptance of myself and the purpose of life? Maybe the Scourge had it right all along…


End file.
